


Find Me, Whenever Time Allows, But Find Me

by kangelique



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Time Traveler's Wife Fusion, Angst and Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Reunion, Time Traveler Killian, Wife Emma Swan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:21:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24774562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kangelique/pseuds/kangelique
Summary: It's been six years since the inevitable happened.Six years Emma Swan has spent staring out the window, waiting, always waiting.Six years since Killian Jones stole it all.But now he's here, finally, and she's crashing into him.He told her she would one day. And now that day has come.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Find Me, Whenever Time Allows, But Find Me

**Author's Note:**

> Full disclosure: I read the book and saw the movie and both were alright, but the ending seemed touching and that's where the inspiration for this one shot came from. I feel proud of this one in all it's 1000 + more words, hope you like it!

**Find Me, Whenever Time Allows, But Find Me:**

Sunday, May 21, 2020 ( Killian is 33, Emma is 29 )

He finds himself in a dark hallway. 

The walls on either side of him hold picture frames of various sizes, lining a path to a door,  _ their  _ door, at the end, open ever so slightly with a white light fiercely glowing around the edges.

He walks slowly, certain if his steps quicken before the time, the floorboard will fade from under him, and certain, as his thumb caresses the picture of a girl -perhaps six?- with dark, black waves tumbling past her shoulders and emerald eyes alight with her large smile, dimples pronounced and nose scrunched with her laughter, so like her mother when all walls had fallen, when he’d truly made her laugh, would push it all to disappear too soon. 

His eyes finally adjust, and they soak in the Winnie the Pooh abandoned against the wall and light up sneakers carelessly tossed a few feet away, the sight of Barbie stickers stuck to the walls curls his lips because his Swan has done it: created a house that might be a home. And he must tell her. With his heart thumping in his ears, urging him forward, he must tell her, she must be so proud, he must tell her how proud she should be, but as his fingers brush the knob, soft echoes of giggles and feet pounding up the stairwell bring him up short. 

_ Hope.  _

He will turn, won’t he? Drop forth on his knees and capture her in his arms, yes? Except he can’t.

When crossing thresholds, he is a stranger in a strange land. And though this house pulls at the memories bleeding through his mind, the utter truth is he is unwelcome, unfamiliar to the young lass’s eyes when she inevitably turns the corner. His lips part, arms already open, and his hands outstretch toward air. More than anything, she must know jumping through realms and sailing through time would have meant nothing, given up in the blink of an eye, if it meant he’d be solid in her embrace. 

Yet he is the man she never met, the papa he never was, the man who stole a piece of her mum. 

So he turns, gaze swimming with barely restrained tears, and he twists the knob. 

The door reveals a woman, sitting cross-legged on a bed, facing a window. He approaches slowly, as though she were a spooked animal, because in many ways she remains to be a deer in the headlights, afraid to believe this is real, this is true, even if she’s yet to turn and see it for herself. 

Her name bubbles in his throat, muscles constricting his voice as a sob settles at the base, and as he opens his mouth to call out, it dies on his tongue when his eyes flick to his teacup on the nightstand. She kept it? So suddenly his eyes take note of the silver glinting off her left hand, the one she’s twisting and tugging on her finger, the color mixing with the blinding sun. Something black and leathery is strewn across her lap -his waistcoat!

_ Love! Love, love, love.  _

He is aware it was all too soon when death ripped him away, and it displays so on her hunched form, her sagging shoulders, the sunshine hair falling down her back dimmed despite the help of the rays. A thousand apologies rise to the surface, meaningless now. His eyebrow furrow, and her chest hikes and falls in deep, measured breaths, and here is a woman who is tired, trying to keep it together. Come to think of it, his bones ache as well, ready to burn his traveling passport and-

She turns, and her entire face breaks into a smile, green eyes sparking to life, and he is too stunned, rooted to his spot, as her lips move wildly and legs untangle from his waistcoat and she jumps forth, barefeet stumbling over each other as she flies through the space and her body, oh so slowly, crashes into his. 

-

Sunday, May 21, 2020 ( Emma is 29)

She finds herself sitting here, admiring the clean. 

Her baby girl will come back at any moment from her sleepover -they’d agreed on eight o clock on the dot, right?- but as she is pulling the sheets off the bed and piling the throw pillows onto the floor, the recently rained on street catches her gaze and she plops on the mattress instead.

Her eyes squint against the sun waking from the rolling waves, it’s rays splaying everywhere in a burst of yellow, orange, and red, and she leans forward, searching, maybe for him to be out there on their front porch, inhaling the slightly, sweet smell of a fresh storm into his nose, and lightly stepping onto the damp grass like he was scared like he would disturb their peaceful time to absorb the droplets. 

To be honest she’d never noticed the appeal until him, until he’d told her how riding the ocean’s waves had purged his demons, always driving all her annoyance into the branches scattered across the yard and persistent pattering on the window making it impossible to sleep. 

Of course now it was a lullaby, calming her racing heart, and acting like the gentle, calloused hand that used to stroke her hair, like the voice that used to whisper stories into her ear in a deep, gravelly tone. 

When it rains, it’s easier, for her mind to summon the image of him, the feel of his chest pressing into her back, of her ankles slipping between his legs and tangling tightly, of his nose and lips burying into the side of her neck, of his strong, rough fingers interlacing with hers in the dark. 

Easy to believe this is just another day, and he’ll be back, yeah possibly injured, but he’ll be back and that’s what’s important. He’ll suddenly materialize next to her, and she’ll scream because  _ what the fuck,  _ and direct a right hook against his jaw before he can say  _ Swan, Swan, wait, darling it’s me _ , and then she’ll be running into the kitchen, looking for ice, cursing her reflexes, cursing her time-travelling husband. 

It’s not one of those days anymore though. But today is different. For some reason. Sure she’s going to get up, brush her hair into a low ponytail, throw on a new tank top and joggers, watch Netflix and eat cereal as she waits for Hope and then let Hope watch Netflix and eat cereal too.

Another normal Sunday. Except her right hand has flown to her left hand, twisting and turning on her ring, their promise of Certain and I Don’t Know What Tomorrow Brings But I’ll Be By Your Side. Maybe that’s why her body tingled with a sudden need to make the bed, like he will burst from the bathroom at any second and scold her for her lack of  _ trying  _ to be tidy. 

Behind her, past the nightstand, there’s a floorboard that’s loose, prey to creaking. Almost always he would step on it, mumbling  _ Oh bloody hell  _ as he did his best to continue reading his book. Obviously he’s a ghost now, her favorite ghost, but an expectancy blends with the air and her eyes widen and she turns. 

_ Oh my god.  _

“Oh my god.”

He’s there, with hopeful blue eyes and arched eyebrows. 

And she’s running, for the first time in years, six years, too many years, and crashing into him. 

-

Still Sunday, May 21 2020 ( Killian is still 33, and Emma is still 29)

Her lips are everywhere. Pressing against his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, his arched eyebrows, his laughing mouth, his closed eyes, his chin, his jaw. And she’s mumbling about  _ How  _ and  _ Why  _ and  _ I don’t care, I don’t care how you’re here, I’m just so happy you’re here _ , and he is too, so bloody much. 

“I love you,” she breathes and holds him tightly to her, knuckles no doubt turning white in her grip, in their growing desperation to at last cheat time. Her eyes are warm and wide, and her soft smile mirrors his as she cups his cheek. “I knew you’d find me,” she whispers.

He simply smiles and rests his forehead to hers because space and time have taken their toll, space and time have stolen too much. 

-

Still Sunday, May 21, 2020 ( Killian is fading, Emma is staying )

His hands are everywhere. Grasping her face, her cheeks, her hips, tracing her sides, her waist, slipping through her hair. And he’s muttering her name over and over again against her skin, any skin he can find and bury his face in, and she’s shaking her head and pressing her chest to his because time is a luxury they’ve never had. 

“I missed you,” he breathes and she closes her eyes in time for the first tear to roll down her cheek and turns her head into his shoulder, easily returning to her place there, easily fitting in as his arm wraps around her shoulders and holds her firmly against his shallow breathing, holds her to this moment. “God, how I love you, Swan.”

She simply smiles because a weight settles in her stomach, and it’s unfair, how long she’s waited, the years she still has left, how Hope will never know the man who loves her more than anything, how their life dissolved with a bullet and how she can’t love, she can’t think, because he’s  _ it.  _

And it’s unfair. So fucken unfair. 

-

He opens his arms and she steps in without a word, and suddenly, he is home. 

-

His cheek lands on top of her head and his arms encase her, and suddenly, she is whole. 

**Author's Note:**

> -Did you love it, did you hate it, thoughts?


End file.
